


Downpour

by Chrmdpoet



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caryl, Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene Friendship, Daryl and Feelings, F/M, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:05:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrmdpoet/pseuds/Chrmdpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They held one another's gazes and said a lot in their silence. They had always been that way, able to say so much without ever actually saying a word. It was just another reason why things were different with them, why Carol had swallowed up so much of his heart and stuck there like a thick layer of glue that held him together most days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downpour

There was no time to linger outside the hospital, though Daryl's knees wanted to buckle. As rigid as he held himself, it took all he had not to collapse in front of Maggie with Beth in his arms and shake, shake like the prickling tremors in his fingertips as he clutched her, like the quivering knot in his throat that made his eyes burn and burn and never seem to stop. There was no time, not for shaking or mourning or trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do or where they could go.

No time. There never seemed to be enough anymore, but then, it also seemed to drag on and on in this endless loop of death and rot and all the things people always tried to avoid back before the world just decided to buckle in and dissolve. Just  _Before._

He carried her all the way to the creaking old shack they found and let the others deal with the walkers, with Maggie who could barely make her legs function. Daryl got that. His own legs strained with every step like they wanted to rip open and crack and crumble and  _force_ him to the ground, as low as he felt, with every sharp breath and every ripple of his biceps beneath Beth's knees and her lolling head. 

They had to pry her from his hands. He tried to let go, but it was like his body wasn't his own anymore, like his hands just wouldn't listen. He held onto her, chest burning and eyes stinging and stomach fucking roaring in protest of the lifeless form pressed against his chest, of the last two hours, of the last year, of _every_ goddamned thing.

It was Carol that breathed against the back of his ear, warm and soothing, told him to let go, told him to breathe. It was Carol's fingers gently gripping his shoulder, cupping the back of his head. It was Carol's face swimming into view, hovering in front of his hazy eyes when all the world felt like it was caving in on him and his ears were buzzing and his tongue was bitter and the air just wouldn't go down into his lungs. It was Carol who kept him conscious, finally got him calm enough that the others could pull Beth from his arms and carry her off, somewhere, away.

He stumbled when the weight disappeared, like he couldn't hold his balance if he wasn't holding on. His head still swam dizzily when he forced his legs to work just a little longer, a little harder, and shoved his way out the door and onto the rickety old wooden porch that groaned beneath his clomping steps. He shot off the porch, just a few feet, and trembled beneath the sudden onslaught of the sky.

It rained like it should, hot and roaring, like even nature had to crack open and cry for the loss of someone so gentle and tender and pure.

He paced beneath the downpour, his steps shaky and wide. His hands balled into fists, released, gripped, trembled, tightened again; a repetition that began decades ago, the first time his deadbeat dad put a fist in his face. His hair stuck to his face and dripped at the back of his neck, and he didn't care.

He wanted to melt in the storm, wanted to dissolve into a puddle of mud and just seep into the ground, disappear. His face strained with the effort not to cry but the tears came anyway, lost in the rain but he knew they were there. They felt heavy on his face somehow, heavy like the press of Beth against his chest, like the haunt of Merle's milky lifeless eyes, like the thump of Carol's body against the car and against the ground; heavy like all the things Daryl couldn't change or fix or ever,  _ever_ forget.

He felt her presence before he saw her, same as in the woods outside of Terminus. He always just sort of knew when it came to Carol.

Clouds of steam puffed from his mouth in the hot rain as he let out hard breaths that squeezed when they went in and burned on the way out, and he tilted his head up just enough to see her. She stood on the porch, arms crossed over her chest, body weakly leaning against one of the creaky wooden posts holding up the roof. Her eyes were pained, gray and searing in the rain, and pinned on him.

They held one another's gazes and said a lot in their silence. They had always been that way, able to say so much without ever actually saying a word. It was just another reason why things were different with them, why Carol had swallowed up so much of his heart and stuck there like a thick layer of glue that held him together most days.

He wrapped around her before he even realized that his legs were moving. One minute he was in the rain, head pounding, heart clenching, lungs aching, and the next, he was breathing against her neck and trying not to jostle her aching body too much when he squeezed her gently and sighed.

He felt her hand at the back of his neck, holding steady, and her cheek rested against the dripping hair crowding the side of his face.

He trembled against her. 

"Cold?" she asked, voice soft but still audible over the rain.

He shook his head, a barely-there motion, but he knew she felt it, knew he probably wouldn't have had to answer at all. Carol seemed to always know what he was going to say before he said it or without him ever needing to, always seemed to know what he was thinking or feeling or needing. He didn't have the damnedest clue how that worked, but it was a comfort all the same. 

She nodded and squeezed the back of his neck. "This wasn't your fault," she told him, tone sincere, clear of doubt. 

His mind screamed in protest, but his breath came easier.

He released her before he was ready to, but that was just the way he was, that was the way the world had taught him to be. Never linger. Never hesitate. Never hold on. Keep moving.

He sighed as he swiped at his face and then tried not to jerk when Carol pressed a small hand towel over his eyes and gently wiped him down. He took it from her, grateful even if he didn't have a clue where it came from, and wiped it across the back of his neck.

He avoided her eyes as he chewed on the inside of his lip, suddenly feeling raw and exposed, and muttered, "Should get you inside. Need to rest."

She agreed without words, leaning on him as he led her back inside, careful to avoid her ribs with the arm he wrapped around her back to support her. He felt them all staring with every step they took through the small shack, but he didn't care, and he didn't look at any of them. He couldn't.

He focused, instead, on the task of getting Carol to the small bed at the back of the shack. Even when all he wanted was to fall apart, he held it together for her, and somehow he knew she knew that, knew she was giving him a reason to hold himself together.

Carol was the only thing keeping him up, going, but she was content to let him think _he_ was the one supporting _her_. They both knew otherwise.

He helped her onto the small bed and then dropped onto the floor beside her. Her fingers never left his hair as he laid his head back and reminded himself, before any tears could slip free, that he didn't have the rain anymore to hide them.


End file.
